One for Ranger's Money
by lives2read
Summary: OFTM from Ranger's POV. Chapter 3 is up after a long technical delay while my laptop got fixed.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note - This story is meant to closely shadow One For The Money by Janet Evanovich, but is told from Ranger's point of view. Despite the fact that I am borrowing JE's characters and plot, I own nothing. I just think that Ranger needs to be fleshed out a bit... and I'm just the girl to deal with Ranger's flesh.

*** This story is not beta-ed, and is supposed to stay very close to cannon. If you notice any errors, be they grammar, spelling, or JE details that I have messed up, please let me know. They may have been on purpose, but more than likely, I just messed up. ***

Last but not least, I love, LOVE, love feedback and reviews. Please tell me what you think!

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Chapter 1

When people say you can never go home again, most of the time they means that things change and you can never get back to where you used to be. Those people must not be from New Jersey. In this hellhole, nothing ever really changes.

Around here, you can go home again, alright.

But why would you want to?

***

I eased my Mercedes slowly down Stark Street, watching the dregs of society scamper like a swarm of cockroaches at my approach. It didn't matter that no one could see me through the deep tinted windows; the residents of this street still looked away. No one here wanted to take a chance that they might accidently catch my eye. Everyone here knew that I was Ranger, and no one wanted to attract my attention.

I was born Ricardo Carlos Manoso, one of six children from a poor family in Newark. My parents were Cuban refugees who escaped from Castro just to spend the rest of their lives in perpetual pursuit of the American dream. Working multiple jobs just to make ends meet hadn't left them a lot of time to supervise their errant son, and I had been running the streets before I even started middle school. A stint in Juvie when I was fourteen taught me survival skills and years in the Army honed me into a lethal weapon. These last few years added even more credibility and mystique to my reputation. These days no one remembered little Rickie Manoso, not even my family. Now I was just Ranger.

I had earned my street name in the Army. After enlisting as a common grunt, Uncle Sam had quickly decided that I would be more useful to him in a role that capitalized on my street smarts and survival skills. I started training as a Special Operations soldier in the airborne infantry. The 61 days of hell known as 'Ranger School' completely changed my life. In no time, I was one of the youngest men ever to lead a squadron of Rangers. I was also one of the most decorated.

But despite my successes, I knew in my heart that I was never meant to be career military. Once my six year stint was up, I didn't reenlist. At least not as regular Army or reserves. I wasn't opposed to serving my country; as a matter of fact I considered it an honor. But from now on, it was going to be on my terms.

For the last three years, I had been adjusting to civilian life and establishing myself as a business man – in my own business. I made some good friends and created a lot of powerful relationships during my time in the Rangers. When I left the Army, I started calling in favors and quickly found financial backing for a new type of Security Company. Instead of focusing solely on residential or corporate security, my company was made to have its foundation in community security. Our methods may not have always followed the exact letter of the law, but I never strayed from the compass in my head. Legally gray, morally right. That was my way of life and the philosophy of my company, Rangeman LLC.

As part of that business, I personally hired, trained, and oversaw more than fifty employees in three different cities. The original office was located in Miami and branches had quickly popped up in Atlanta and Boston. Through these offices, Rangeman offered a multitude of services including body guarding, residential and commercial security, security consulting, urban renewal assistance, and bond enforcement. We also assisted the government in a variety of capacities that require a security clearance just to mention.

This, in a roundabout way, was the reason I was driving down this God forsaken street during one of the hottest Augusts that New Jersey had ever seen. The government was more than happy with the job that my company had done for them in the last couple of years, and wanted to expand our contract. The good news was that these assignments were incredibly lucrative. The bad news was that I was going to be spending a lot more time in Washington DC and New York City dealing with federal red tape. It quickly became obvious that Miami might not be the most logical place for Rangeman's headquarters.

I had argued against Newark because there was too much of my past there that could eventually be used against me, but my partners had really been set on a New Jersey location. I finally agreed to a trial period in Trenton. I figured that I would come here for a year, establish some street credibility and scout the area. If the location proved to be profitable and worked with the government responsibilities, we would open the 4th Rangeman branch here. If not, we would spend the next year doing the same sort of test of Wilmington, Delaware.

Delaware's laws weren't quite as friendly to this sort of business, but everything else about Delaware appealed to me. Especially the fact that it wasn't fucking New Jersey.

Even as the twilight descended around me, I could see the shimmering waves of heat rising from the cracked sidewalks. Sweat dripped down the barely covered chests of the prostitutes on the corners, leaving large wet stains on the spandex and lycra that made up their uniforms. Drug dealers had forgone their normal baggy sweatshirts and the pockets of their saggy jeans were bulging with the products they tried to push.

Stark Street never shut down, not even when the mercury pushed past the 100 degree mark and the air was saturated with humidity. This was Trenton, New Jersey's version of Hollywood Boulevard- except without the Walk of Fame. But what Stark Street lacked in celebrity, it more than made up for in availability of drugs, hired thugs, and prostitution. It was also the favorite haunt of Enrique DeJesus, the asshole I was currently hunting.

I didn't actually know DeJesus personally, this was business. It seemed Enrique had a bad habit of getting high and roughing up his girlfriend, who just happened to be one of the prostitutes working this street. It seemed that the last time this happened, he went a bit too far and left his bitch with permanent brain damage. Then, to make matters worse, he jumped bond and failed to appear for his court date.

The bail bondsman who had sprung DeJesus was currently on the hook for a cool half million dollars, and therefore very motivated to have his sorry ass dragged back to jail. As a bounty hunter, I would make ten percent of that bond if I was the one who brought him in, and as far as I was concerned, that $50,000 was as good as mine. Enrique was going down, and it was happening tonight.

I was supposed to have three weeks left in Trenton, but DeJesus was the only outstanding skip I had at this point and it felt like the right time to get out. I had already made plans to fly back to Miami tomorrow evening, and I couldn't wait. Tomorrow would be my 30th birthday, and leaving Jersey was the best present I could think of.

As I continued down Stark St, I passed Benito Ramirez coming out of his gym escorted by his entourage of thugs. Ramirez was a Mike Tyson wannabe, complete with the little girl voice that came from his heavy weight body. He was constantly surrounded by maggots who were hoping to ride his coat tails to fame and fortune. The only problem with that theory was that Benito was a lazy fuck who didn't train as hard as he should.

He got through most of his fights by talent and intimidation, not to mention the fact that his manager was hand picking opponents. But when he wanted to, Ramirez could turn it on. He was mean as hell and wasn't afraid to hurt people. Actually, the more he hurt his opponents, the happier he was. He had already been fined by the World Boxing Council for cheap shots to the head, and he hadn't even achieved national ranking.

Notably missing from Ramirez's little troop was Ziggy Kulesza. Ziggy had been nothing more than an errand boy and extra muscle, but it was odd to see Ramirez on the street without his normal shadow. The big man was going to have to find a new groupie, though. A couple weeks ago, Kulesza's head had been ventilated by a bullet, courtesy of Joe Morelli, one of Trenton's finest.

I wondered a bit about Morelli as I continued to scout my way down Stark Street. I had met Joe at least a dozen times in the last year. He was a vice detective and he tended to have his finger in the pot whenever anything big was brewing in Trenton. He had good instincts and his moral code didn't seem that different from my own. I didn't know what the deal was with him and Kulesza, but I'd bet my life's savings that it wasn't cold-blooded murder. Morelli was too smart for that. If he'd wanted Ziggy to disappear, no one would have found the body.

Yet it appeared that murder was the theory everyone else was sticking to. Morelli had been arrested and charged, then released on a measly $100,000 bond. Seemed kinda low for Murder -1, but Morelli was a local boy, born and raised in Trenton. I guess the judge didn't think he was much of a flight risk. Unfortunately, that all changed a couple days ago when he didn't show up for a preliminary hearing. No one had seen the good detective in over a week and the streets were buzzing. Word was that if he did surface, there was going to be a price on his head bigger than the amount of the jumped bail.

If it were anyone else, I might have believed they were lying on a tropical beach right now, but Morelli didn't seem that type. He was too much of a cop. My guess was that he was out there right now either trying to find evidence of his innocence or destroy evidence of his guilt. Either way, chances were he was still in Trenton.

I could've been hunting for him right now, instead of DeJesus, but when Connie from the Bail Bond office tried to give me the case, I refused. It wasn't that I didn't think I could bring him in, I just didn't want to. I respected Morelli, and if he decided flee to that tropical beach, I wasn't about to stop him. Plus, bringing in Morelli was going to be difficult. He wasn't going to roll over without a fight, and no one would come out of that unscathed.

Since I'd turned down the case, I'm sure Connie passed it over to Morty Beyers. Beyers had been a Trenton cop himself until a few years ago. Word was he played fast and loose with the rules and had a weakness for prostitutes, especially the inexperienced ones, boy and girls alike. He was a weaselly shit and that made him a very effective bounty hunter. He thought like a cop, but didn't waste his time worrying about the law. He did whatever he needed to do to bring in a skip and earn cash to buy his cocaine. He was constantly struggling to make enough scratch to keep his nose happy.

I'd heard he was rushed to the hospital last night with a busted appendix. Sounded like it was pretty bad, but my guess was he would be up and around in a couple of days. A habit like his wasn't going to be satisfied with the pain meds the hospital hands out. He was probably jonesing for a fix already. Idiot.

I was brought out of my oh-so-kind thoughts for my fellow bounty hunter when I caught site of a scrawny ass peeking out over the waistband of a saggy pair of jeans. DeJesus was standing under one of the only working streetlights in the area with his hand stuffed down the shirt of the hooker working that corner. His other hand held a small plastic baggy and it was obvious that he was offering to share his stash in payment for services rendered. Just as I drove by, I saw her nod in agreement and the two of them ducked into the doorway of the condemned building they were standing in front of. It seemed that DeJesus had already found a replacement for his girlfriend who was still in the hospital learning how to do difficult things like feed herself or wipe her own ass.

Enrique had never turned around the whole time he was negotiating with his little party, so he had no idea I was even there. I'd give them a few minutes to snort up and get busy while I waited for backup. Then I'd teach him the importance of being more aware of his surroundings.

It looked like tomorrow I'd be out of this shit hole with fifty large sitting in my pocket. Happy Birthday to me.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note – This should be the last chapter full of background, and next chapter should get to the meat of the story in OFTM. What do you think? Do you like it? Should I go on? Please review. _

_Sorry that this is unbetaed. Please let me know if there are any errors I need to address._

Chapter 2

It was just past noon, and I was getting to the office for the first time today. Not that this was much of an office, but it was convenient and it served its purpose. I didn't even have a real desk here, just a flimsy, chipboard workstation and a squeaky chair. But it was a place to send the mail, it had secure Wi-Fi, and in a couple of hours I was never going to have to see it again.

Up to this point, I had had a very productive day. We captured Enrique DeJesus late last night and finished up his paperwork just after midnight, and then I'd been up at 5:00 to run and work out in the gym. At seven, I had a teleconference with the managers of the Atlanta, Boston and Miami offices. Business was booming and there were a lot of projects coming up. At 8:30, I was at the Plum Bail Bonds to drop of my body receipt for DeJesus and arrange payment.

Normally on bonds under $100,000, Connie, the manager of the bonds office, writes a check immediately when she receives a body receipt. On the high dollar bonds, the ten percent payout actually comes from the insurance company that underwrote the bond. There is supposed to be a 72 hour wait for payout while the insurance company verifies the information. When I explained to Connie that I was taking a trip tonight and needed my payment sooner, Connie made a few phone calls for me and I walked out of the office with a check for 50K by 9:30.

Since then, I had gone to the small house we were renting and packed all of my belongings. Benny and Tiny, the two employees who had been working with me for the last few months were going to stay a few more days and then drive the vehicles back to Miami. Tiny was as anxious as I was to get out of this hellhole, but Benny had met a girl in Pennington who he was sure was 'the one'. He was actually considering popping the question, so he was trying to extend his stay in Trenton as long as possible. Proof positive that women screw with your head. No one in their right mind_ wants_ to be in Jersey.

I decided to start by packing as much as I could into file boxes that Tiny could load into the Bronco when he was ready to leave. The important paperwork and my laptop would be going with me on the plane, and the cheap rental furniture would stay until Benny left. Now all I needed to do was go through today's mail, email, and voice mail, and I could finally get out of this ridiculous little space.

When we scouted Trenton last fall, we decided that the office needed to be in a good enough area to seem reputable, but had to be close enough to the hood that it wouldn't work against my street reputation. This efficiency office seemed like the perfect solution. It was only one room, but it was in a building full of law offices and small government agencies. Building security was high enough to keep out casual annoyances, but not so high that anyone would ask questions about the fact that there was no placard on the door and we weren't listed in the building directory. It was only two blocks away from Stark Street, and the parking lot had attendants on duty 24 hours a day. The 3rd story window had a good view of downtown Trenton, and the rent was fairly cheap.

Unfortunately, the windows were only lightly tinted and anyone in any of the nearby buildings had an easy view of everything that went on. I adjusted the mini –blinds for privacy and I started to go through my mail. Most of it went straight into the shredder, junk mail at its finest. A few things would have to go with me to Miami tonight so that I could deal with them personally, and most of the rest were bills. After I finished with that paperwork, I sat back and let myself open the final envelope.

It was addressed to Ranger Manoso in big, uneven, loopy handwriting, so despite the fact that there was no return address, there was no doubt who it was from. This was probably the only birthday gift I was going to receive today. The guys I worked with weren't exactly the Hallmark type, and my family had stopped sending anything years ago.

I carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the homemade card. It was a folded piece of light blue construction paper with a crayon drawing of a man on the cover. I was sure it was supposed to be me with its long black hair and all black clothing, but it was holding a bunch of balloons in one hand and had a pink party hat on its head. On the front of the card, was written:

_Knock, Knock!_

_Who's There?_

_Ivan._

_Ivan Who?_

I opened the card to reveal a picture of a three-tier cake covered in burning candles.

_Ivan a piece of your cake!_

_Happy Birthday, Ranger!_

_Love, Julie_

_P.S. Mom and Dad say that you should come for diner next time you are in Miami._

She had drawn a smiley face in the O of the word 'love', and the I in her name was dotted with a heart. There was also a wallet size picture of a beautiful little girl included in the envelope, with the words "Julie Martine- Age 8" written carefully on the back. She looked a lot like her mother in that picture, but her eyes and her smile were definitely from me.

It appeared that Julie was doing well. She was about to start the third grade. She was smart. She was happy. She seemed incredibly normal. She was lucky. I may have provided half of her DNA, but Ron and Rachel were her parents, and they were doing a great job. I made a note on my blackberry to call Rachel and schedule a visit, then I quickly filed the card and picture into my briefcase. I needed to keep moving if I was going to leave for Miami in less than five hours.

My emails were all unimportant and easily disposed, then I moved on to voicemail. My phone was set up with three separate numbers that allowed callers different amount of access to me. The men I worked with were the only ones who had the number to access me instantly by phone. Almost everyone else had a number that went straight to voice mail or accepted text messages. Finally, casual contacts had a number that functioned as a pager, allowing only brief text or numeric messages.

I shook my head as I listened to my messages. It didn't matter that I was now thirty, my family still made me feel like I was a disobedient child. I had a message from my sister reminding me to call my mother today, I had a message from my mother reminding me to call my abuela, and I had a message from my abuela scolding me for not visiting today so that she could make me a birthday dinner. With my family, this was as close as we got to birthday cheer. I also had a message from Ella, an old neighbor who I considered almost to be a surrogate parent. She actually sang Happy Birthday to me in Spanish and wished me a blessed, happy and prosperous year.

Finally, I got to my texts. There was updated information regarding my flight tonight and a notification from my realtor that she had some properties for me to check out in Wilmington. Last, I saw a page from Connie at the Bond's office. That one seemed strange to me. Usually I checked in with her once a day to see if there were any new skips, and I had spent nearly an hour at the office this morning. Plus, while she didn't know that I was planning on leaving Trenton for good, she did know that I was taking a trip tonight. I couldn't imagine why she was calling me now.

The phone only rang once before she answered, "Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. How may we help you?"

"Ranger. You paged." No point beating around the bush.

"Oh, Ranger. Thanks for calling me back." She giggled nervously as she answered.

I didn't know why she was nervous, but women make no sense, so I just waited. I figured eventually we would get to the point of this conversation, and I wasn't disappointed. The dead air seemed to be too much for her.

"Umm, yeah, anyway. You remember this morning how after I got the check from the insurance company, you said you owed me one? Well, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

Oh, fuck. I could just imagine the kind of favor she would want that had her giggling and nervous. Usually, I didn't mind working with Connie, but she wasn't exactly subtle and she had a habit of staring at my ass and fanning herself every time I turned my back on her.

"So, anyway, I was wondering if you could meet with a new bounty hunter we just hired, and umm, kinda show her the ropes a little bit."

Well, that was a surprise, and not really a great one. I don't know what I was expecting, but the last thing I wanted to do was waste my time with someone who had watched a 'Dog, the Bounty Hunter' marathon and now wanted to be a recovery agent. Plus, I was getting on a plane in about four hours, and I hadn't even eaten lunch yet.

Since I hadn't answered, Connie went on, "So, umm, I know you're leaving in a little while, but do you think you could meet with her and give her a few tips. I really like this girl and I'm afraid she's going to get hurt if she doesn't get a little advice." She paused again then hit me with her final weapon. "Please."

I repressed a sigh. She had me. "Who is this girl?"

"You'll love this." Again with the nervous giggle. "She's Vinnie's cousin and she was out of work, so she blackmailed Vinnie into giving her a job. She's got a lot of spunk."

Oh, joy. Vinnie's cousin. Vinnie was a perverted little waste of flesh and I could just imagine what his 'spunky' cousin must be like. Why the fuck did I tell Connie I owed her a favor. I looked at my watch and decided I needed to eat lunch anyway. Might as well kill two birds at once.

"Tell her to meet me by the café on the corner of Broad and State, downtown, at 1:30. I'll give her half an hour. I'll be in the back booth."

I disconnected before she could answer and bit back a sigh. Just what I needed. Happy fucking birthday to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the long delay in getting this chapter posted. My laptop took a tumble and I can't access many sites from my work computer because the firewall blocks everything. But I'm back in business now!

_Author's note – This chapter contains a lot of dialog taken directly from __One For The Money__ by Janet Evanovich. I own nothing. She owns it all. I am getting nothing from this except the pleasure of spending quality time getting to know Ranger a little bit better. _

_I don't have a beta. If you notice any glaring errors, please let me know so that I can fix them. _

_And as always, I love reviews, so if you want to make my day, please send me one!_

Chapter 3

I got to the café about ten minutes early and quickly slipped into my favorite booth. I had never seen anyone else sitting there, except for the occasional waitress taking a break. It was all the way in the back of the restaurant, and it didn't have a window next to it like all the other booths. What it did have was a perfect view of the front door, the back door, and the door leading to the kitchen. I accepted a glass of water from an overly flirtatious waitress and pretended to read the menu while I waited to meet Vinnie's cousin.

I had dressed for comfort and for the heat today, not for work. I was wearing black cargo pants, black boots, and a black tee-shirt, and my hair was pulled back into a ponytail so that it would be out of my way while I packed. Despite the fact that none of my weapons were visible, I knew I looked dangerous. I would fit in to the worst neighborhoods without anyone questioning.

I quickly decided that I was going to be in my Cuban-hood persona. It fit the way I looked today and with the mood I was in, I could use it as an excuse to act like an ass. I slouched back a bit, plastered a cocky look on my face, and mentally cursed the fact that I hadn't gotten out of Jersey the moment I had the check for DeJesus in hand.

I was scanning the traffic going by on Broad St. when the bell attached to the front door of the diner began to jingle. A leggy brunette stumbled through the door looking a little flustered and disheveled, but striking. She was thin but still managed to have soft curves which were nicely highlighted by the fact that her clothes were sticking to her in the heat. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into an unruly, low ponytail, but several curls had escaped and were clinging to her neck. Her face was flushed from the heat, and judging by how much she was sweating, either her car had no air conditioning, or she had run several miles to get here.

She paused for moment to scan the restaurant, and flinched visibly when her eyes met mine. Her eyes were an icy blue, and gave her an air of innocence, despite the fact that she was wearing enough eye makeup for every woman in the diner. She looked like the Jersey version of a typical suburban princess. She had the big hair, heavy makeup, and designer shoes that seemed to be the norm around here, yet she was still completely white bread, the kind of girl who dreamed of 2.7 kids and a house with a white picket fence. The kind of girl who had never been on the wrong side of the tracks.

She froze under my predatory gaze like a rabbit who had just noticed a hawk circling overhead. I definitely looked like the wrong side of the tracks today.

She had stopped looking around the diner and was focused on me, but not with the typical flirtatious attitude that so many women turn on around me. She had clearly decided that I was who she was looking for and the thought seemed to terrify her. I made a mental wager on how long it was going to take her to turn around and walk back out the door.

So this princess was the bounty hunter wanna-be, huh? She looked like she would be more comfortable at the mall than working any job, especially one that involved chasing after lowlifes who were desperate or stupid enough to skip bail. I was willing to bet that she had never even driven down some of the streets that most of the FTAs called home. Connie said she was afraid this girl was going to get hurt if no one showed her the ropes. I thought she'd be lucky if she didn't get dead.

Her eyes stayed locked with mine as I watched her literally swallow back her fear. I almost laughed at the look of determination on her face as she took a deep breath, straightened her back, and started to walk purposefully towards me. She had the easiest face to read that I had ever seen, and at this moment, it was saying that she was hoping like hell that she was wrong and she wasn't supposed to be meeting me.

She arrived at the table and stuck her hand towards me. "Hi," she stammered. "I'm Stephanie Plum."

I shook her hand briefly, happy to notice that despite the bright red, manicured nails, she had a firm yet feminine grip. Nothing more annoying than women who offer you a limp hand shake. I nodded my head to indicate that she should take a seat, and she slid onto the bench across from me. The flirtatious waitress was right on Stephanie's heels, and handed her a menu without ever so much as glancing her direction.

"So," the waitress purred at me, "Can I get you something? Anything?"

I nodded at Stephanie to suggest that she should order first. She opened the menu and let out a little squeal as she almost immediately closed it again.

"Oh, you have Monte Cristos. I love Monte Cristos! It's been forever since I had one. Can I get it with fries? And instead of the coleslaw that comes with it, can I get extra fries? And a large Coke? With lots and lots of ice? Thanks."

Her words came together in a rush, and I doubted that she had taken a single breath in the process, but her face was lit up and she didn't look scared anymore. I wondered what on earth a Monte Cristo was that it had that kind of power.

"I'll have a turkey sandwich on whole wheat. No mayonnaise. Fresh fruit instead of fries. And a coffee. Black." I watched Stephanie's face as I ordered, and her nose actually wrinkled with disgust. Apparently, my lunch wasn't quite up to her Monte Cristo standards. Whatever those were.

The waitress disappeared with our menus, and Stephanie started to stare at me nervously again. I slouch back and made a point of slowly looking her up and down. I plastered a leering grin on my face. "Soooooo," I added a touch of Cuban accent to my speech, "Connie says I'm supposed to make you into a badass fugitive apprehension agent. She says you need to get the crash course. What's the rush?"

She bit down on her lower lip as she considered how to answer and I was suddenly mesmerized. She had big, full, pouty lips that looked like they were made for kissing. I had a sudden vision of what they would look like wrapped around my cock, and my pants started to get tight.

"You see the brown Nova at the curb?"

Her words pulled me out of my fantasy and I pulled my eyes away from her mouth to look out the window.

"Un huh." I wasn't sure what her point was.

"That's my car."

I nodded to acknowledge that I saw the piece of shit that looked like it was held together with rust and duct tape. I knew homeless people with better cars than that. But in and of itself, the car didn't seem like enough to make Little Mary Sunshine try to become a bounty hunter.

"So you need money. Anything else?"

"Personal reasons."

Uh-oh. 'Personal reasons' are almost always things that make you stop using your brain and get you in trouble. Years in the Army had taught me to lock 'personal reasons' into a back corner of my mind and use logic to make decisions. My guess was that the princess here had never had anyone actually expect her to think rationally.

"Bond enforcement is dangerous business. Those personal reasons better be pretty fucking good."

She opened her mouth like she was going to snap at me, then closed it again and gave me a piercing look.

"What are _your_ reasons for doing this?"

I wasn't about to get into this with her. Not even my family truly understood why I constantly put myself into difficult and potentially dangerous situations. But I decided to give her a kernel of the truth. I held my palms up and shrugged.

"It's what I do best."

She sighed softly and looked down at her hands. That expressive face of hers was quickly turning sad.

"Maybe someday I'll be good at this too. Right now my motive is steady employment."

Usually, I don't care if there's a long periods of silence, but I felt the need to move this conversation along before she got any sadder.

"Vinnie give you a skip?"

She sighed again and looked up to gauge my reaction as she answered. "Joseph Morelli."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. A real laugh. The kind of laugh I hadn't had in years. If anyone who knew me had hear the sound of my laughter booming through that little diner, they would have thought they were hallucinating. I had a picture in my mind of this little girl trying to bring in Joe Morelli using nothing but the industrial size can of hairspray that every Jersey girl seemed to carry in their purse. It was worthy of the laugh.

"Oh, man! Are you kidding me? You aren't gonna get that dude. This isn't some street punk you're going after. This guy's smart. And he's good. You know what I'm telling you?"

"Connie says _you're_ good," she snapped back.

I felt my smile widen. "There's me, and then there's you, and you aren't ever gonna be as good as me, Sweet Thing."

Her eyes had narrowed during my little speech, but at the end they almost erupted in blue fire. I guess she didn't like being called Sweet Thing, but that was okay. It didn't really suit her anyway. She was more complex than you would first guess from her appearance. Definitely less sugar and more spice.

She pressed her lips together and leaned across the table towards me. I started having flashbacks to my earlier thoughts about her mouth, but she started hissing at me before I had a chance to get too distracted.

"Let me make my position clear to you. I'm out of work. I've had my car repossessed, my refrigerator is empty, I'm going to get kicked out of my apartment, and my feet don't fit in these shoes. I haven't got a lot of time to waste socializing. Are you going to help me or what?"

The girl was a complete enigma. One minute she was terrified of me, the next she was snarling at me. She was one of the hottest women I'd come across since I'd come back to Jersey, but she wasn't trying to use her looks to persuade me. She wasn't coming on to me and she wasn't backing down. There was something appealing about her that I hadn't found in any woman in years. She was _interesting._

"This is gonna be fun," I grinned. "This here's gonna be like Professor Higgins and Eliza Doolittle Does Trenton."

She narrowed her eyes at me again, and I realized that in my amusement I had slipped up my cover. I might still have the posture and the accent going on, but very few bad asses openly made My Fair Lady references. And it looked like she was about to call me on it.

Luckily, the waitress chose that moment to bring us our orders, and Stephanie was immediately distracted. Saved by the food.


End file.
